


It's not Easy

by Lawsonia_Inermis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst (Sort of), Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawsonia_Inermis/pseuds/Lawsonia_Inermis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after a terrible fight, Harry works up the courage to confront Draco, and hopefully get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not Easy

**Author's Note:**

> this story kind of references an interpretation of Draco I had, where the scars on Draco’s back are physical representations of the suppressive power / control Lucius had over Draco
> 
> As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, "thefeelsinourships.tumblr.com"!

Harry raised a shaking hand to the flat door, allowing it to hover for a long moment before he finally, finally, allowed it to make quick and loud contact with the door frame. The knock was deafening in the silence of the condominium building’s hall. His heart was thumping loudly in his throat, and his head was pounding as it rushed to think far too fast.

He was nervous. It felt like his whole life was riding on the following moment.

The silence was long, and Harry felt his heart swelling and sinking as he considered the possibility that Draco was not home. He knew that shifts at St. Mungo’s would be longer and more taxing now that it was holiday season. The information had surprised him when Draco had first told him, nearing their first Christmas as a couple almost three years prior, despite the knowledge of all the trouble the Weasleys would get up to around Christmas time. It wasn’t like he considered them or himself particularly mischievous, but the thought that someone should have to work all Christmas had been an upsetting one.

He’d still managed to get Draco the day off on that Christmas day, and if he did it while dropping names, then the hospital deserved it for using Draco’s ex-Death Eater status as an excuse to overwork him, anyways. If he did the same the next two years, well… karma?

The silence continued, and Harry found himself scowling at the door. Somehow the memories were serving to ease his nerves, rather than stimulate them as he’d expected.

He raised his hand to knock again.

The silence continued.

He knocked once more.

This time he heard the distinctive noise of somebody banging around behind the door. He was torn between wanting to smile at the mental image of his stumbling ex-lover and wanting to cry at the thought of seeing him again.

It had been almost four months.

The stumbling was not followed by a clicking of a lock or the creaking of the door (Draco had always complained about that creaking, actually - Harry found himself wondering if he’d fixed it in their time apart), Harry found himself raising his hand to knock again.

Did Draco know it was him? If he did, it might explain the reluctance to answer the bell.

The door was violently yanked open, and Harry was met with the sight of his very cranky ex. He duly noted that the breaking was still there.

“Hold your fucking hippogr--”

The angry tirade stopped the second Draco laid eyes on the man across from him. Harry found himself pleasantly surprised not the have the door slammed in his face. Instead, Draco shifted his position so that he was leaning against the doorframe, looking far more beautiful than he had any right to, shirtless with low rise track bottoms and his thick framed glasses hanging off his nose.

Beauty aside, Draco looked rather unwell. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and he looked paler than usual. One of his shoulders was hunched slightly as if sore or injured, and his left wrist was wrapped in bandage. The sectumsempra scars were faint and almost invisible, but the black of his dark mark was a stark contrast to his complexion, and the centerpiece of his look, shirtless as he was.

“Potter,” he addressed, coolly. “I don’t suppose you forgot something when you ran off, did you? Took you long enough to come for it,” he sneered, turning abruptly and re-entering the flat. Harry was left with three options: turn tails and run, stay in the doorway and admire Draco’s retreating figure, or follow his ex inside.

As appealing as the second one sounded, he was leaning more towards the latter.

The skin of Draco’s back was raised and red around the lashing scars, far more noticeable than Harry had ever seen them. Draco had once told Harry that, as they were left with a magical object (he never said the word ‘whip’, and the one time Harry had, Draco had hissed and snarled at him; “My father would never whip me, Potter!”), they responded to both his emotions and physical condition. As Harry had observed, they would rise and darken when Draco was ill, angry or hurt, and shrink and fade when he was feeling well and content. They would never completely disappear, or even faded as much as the sectumsempra one had, unfortunately, and it had always hurt Harry to look at them.

A strange ache opened in Harry’s chest, and he felt a powerful urge to drag Draco into his arms and kiss the scars until they disappeared, but he knew that his ex would not take well to that. He was angry, and if Harry was being honest with himself, he had every right to be.

Harry crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. Draco was rounding the corner of the entrance and crossing into the kitchen, Harry realized. He wasted no time in following his lover around the corner.

Draco had himself a seat at the island, his laptop (Harry had bought it as a joke for him when he’d first mentioned a desire to write academically, and Draco had taken quite well to it, surprisingly) open in front of him and a couple of potions texts spread sporadically over the counter’s surface. He didn’t look up to further acknowledge Harry, let alone speak to him.

A long silence stretched between them, during which Draco shuffled through many a stack of paper, and even adjusted his glasses on his nose, once.

Harry cleared his throat.

Draco’s silver eyes swivelled sharply to look at him and narrowed. “Did you need something?”

Harry felt his eyes trailing to the left, his nerves rising again faced with his ex’s anger. Something else was rising in him, as well, however - the same something that had him dragging himself off of Ron and Hermione’s couch and back to the flat he used to share with the beautiful man across from him, only this time much, much stronger.

“We need to talk, Draco,” he stated as confidently as he was capable.

“Do we?” Draco snapped, voice sharp with a powerful desire to both defend himself from hurt and inflict just that on Harry. “Because I really think you’ve said enough, Potter.”

Harry felt himself physically recoil with the force behind the words, the derision so reminiscent of the verbal blows they’d thrown back in their school years that he felt about as inadequate and insecure as he had back then.

It took him a short moment to recover, and by the time he had, Draco was already clacking away at his keyboard.

“Draco, please,” he tried again. The only sign that Draco had heard him was the way his pace stuttered, but so minute that error was Harry was not completely sure it was due to him. That didn’t stop him from continuing to try, however. “I am so sorry. I was wrong, okay? I miss you.”

Draco’s pace was unaffected, this time. “You’re sorry? You were wrong? Is that really all you have to say, Potter?” Draco didn’t have to be facing Harry for him to know that his facial features would be twisted into a cruel sneer. “Get whatever the fuck you came for and leave.”

“That’s the problem,” Harry said, his insides squirming with the risk he was taking. “I kind of… came for you?” His unsurety in the line showed through the questioning tone he took at the end.

Draco stopped typing. Harry couldn’t tell if the delay in his turning around was due to hesitation or if it was theatrics to intimidate him. “Give me one reason to take you back,” he snapped.

Harry winced. “I shouldn’t have said it. Any of it.”

“Said what?” Draco baited, shifting on his stool to lean forward. Harry was inwardly ashamed that the shift of Draco’s slim shoulders distracted him from his lovers words, if only for a moment. “Said that I was selfish? That I wasn’t capable of love or empathy? Oh, wait, how about--”

“You said some things you shouldn’t have, either,” Harry pointed out.

Draco snorted, derisively. “I won’t take any of it back, you egotistical prick. You have no right to be here. Get the fuck out of my flat, Potter!”

Harry felt his own anger rise along with Draco’s voice.

“See what I mean?” Harry snapped. “Egotistical prick? That’s rich, coming from you--”

“Is it?” Draco snapped, cutting Harry off. “It wasn’t selfish of you at all to always be running off on those stupid, suicidal auror missions of yours for weeks at a time, was it? What about all those dates you stood me up on to go help your friends, Potter? All those parties and galas you refused to accompany me to, because there would be death eaters--”

Harry knew it was wrong to shout, to cut off Draco when he was finally gettings his words out, but his own rage was rising indignantly in his chest. “Excuse me? How was that selfish in any way?”

Draco sneered at him, eyes a heartbreaking mixture of hatred and hurt. “Oh, silly me. Altruistic Potter running off for charity and for the sake of satisfying his fucking hero complex, never giving his fucking boyfriend the goddamned time of day--”

“What?” Harry gaped. “I didn’t-- I never meant to neglect you, Draco, I just…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Draco replied, and the cold impassiveness of his voice was perhaps crueler than the angry shouting and mocking sneers. “Saint Potter is the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Silly of us common folk to expect any special treatment.”

Harry winced. “Draco, you’re my boyfriend, of course I--”

“Was, Potter,” Draco cut in coolly. “It’s been over for four months. Get over it.”

Harry inhaled sharply. “Shouldn’t that be my line?” he ventured.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. “Excuse me?” he said, voice quiet and dangerous.

“I think maybe you should be getting over me, Draco. Have you even slept the past four months? Neville said  you’ve been taking all the overtime at St. Mungo’s.”

Draco jerked his head so that he was facing his computer again, but Harry saw his fist clench so tightly a crack appeared in the plastic of his wireless mouse. “Well, evidently, Longbottom had it wrong. Not exactly the first time, is it?”

“Really? Maybe you should re-check your schedule, then. It might be enlightening.”

Draco turned back again, his face arranged to show a well-practiced, cruel smile. “Don’t be daft, Potter,” he snapped, though his voice was defensive. “I’m way over you. Maybe Longbottom lied to make you feel a bit better about your pathetic little homeless self?”

Harry’s brows drew down into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “What? You think I don’t know you’ve been camping out on your weaselboy’s couch, Potter? So busy playing hero you can’t even get yourself a new place?”

Harry felt his nostrils flare, and he pulled violently at his emotions within his head, trying to get them into some semblance of order. He knew what Draco was trying to do - he’d seen him do it to many before him. He was trying to hit every vulnerable spot he knew and make Harry hate him. Make him be the one to lose it, to give up and leave. That was exactly what he’d done the day they’d broken up.

Harry’s heart still ached, four months later, at the cruel words he’d thrown at Draco that night, frustrated from a terrible raid, seven whole days with little to eat and no time to sleep. Six casualties, all on him.

They’d been tracking the LeStrange brothers, who’d miraculously escaped the battlefield and had been on the run since. The dark mark on Draco’s arm had reminded him of what he’d lost that day, and he’d misplaced all his rage and frustration on the beauty of a boyfriend he’d worked so hard to earn.

“Draco,” Harry started, and he saw the way Draco’s eyes flitted nervously to the right when the other realized just how composed Harry was. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I said so much I should not have. I love you, you know that. I don’t want to have to go through Christmas without you.”

“Don’t, Potter,” Draco had said, most of his anger gone from his voice, replaced with a vulnerable, empty kind of hurt. “This can’t end well. I knew from the start it wouldn’t. I’m a death eater, and you’re the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry felt a righteous anger flare within him, and despite his previous decision not to let Draco provoke him, Harry found himself snapping, angrily; “Don’t be stupid, Draco, you know that’s not true!”

Draco arched an eyebrow, his eyes cold and calm. When he spoke, though, there was a slight waver to it. “Really? Then why can’t you bear to look at this?” he accused, shoving his left arm forward, as if the mark wasn’t visible enough against his pale, bared skin.

Harry controlled his breathing, not taking his eyes off the mark. After a long moment of just looking at it, he raised his eyes to meet Draco’s, and met the hurt and anger there. “I’m sorry, Draco, but all I can see now is you.”

Draco inhaled sharply and stumbled off the stool. His breaths were unsteady as he began to page across the tile floor, his bare feet making gentle padding noises and his arms reaching up to wrap around himself. “Potter, we can’t. I can’t.”

“Why, though?” Harry asked, taking a step forward. The action broke Draco’s pace, and he took a nervous step back in an attempt to re-establish the space between them. “We were good for a long time, Draco. I made a stupid mistake. We can try again. I won’t make the same mistake a second time.”

“Won’t you, though?” Draco accused. “I don’t…” his voice trailed off, once again losing the angry edge and fading into something vulnerable. “I don’t think I can go through that again, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that pressed against his throat at the words. Anger faded quickly into sorrow, and regret. Harry took five long strides across the floor, and had Draco in his arms in a moment. He managed to bury his face in the soft, blond hair and whisper “I’m sorry” before Draco got over the shock and began to resist.

“Potter, please,” he hissed. “Don’t. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” Harry protested. “If anyone is being ridiculous, it’s you. You know I love you. I know you love me. Why can’t it just be that simple?”

Draco snorted, his warm breath tingling against the crook of Harry’s neck and shoulder. “We’ll never be that simple,” he responded, “we never were.”

And although the words were no concession, Draco’s bare arms lifted to loop loosely around Harry’s waist.

“This is a really bad idea,” he repeated, but the fight was gone. “This is unfair. Why do you do this to me? How can you do this to me?”

Harry smiled, although it was soft and pained. He brushed a gentle kiss against the apple of Draco’s cheek. “‘It’s ‘cause we’re meant to be. Something meaningless wouldn’t feel this right.”

He didn’t have to look to know his lover (was it okay to stop calling him an ex, yet? Harry was sure he’d won him back, although he’d never quite be able to explain how) to know he was rolling his eyes. “You’re a pathetic sod, Harry.”

“I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said,” Draco hummed, his bare chest rumbling against Harry’s own sweater clad one, “but you’re going to have to prove it.”

Harry pressed a hard, but chaste, kiss against the crown of Draco’s head. “Of course. Anything.”

And anything would indeed be worth it, if it meant holding Draco like this again, for the rest of his life.

Draco relaxed in his embraced, and Harry felt a contentment that hadn’t touched him in four months fill his entirety.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, with finality.

“I know,” Draco responded, and although his voice still sounded somewhat trepidatious, he bravely continued with an, “I love you, too.”


End file.
